


Alpha Male

by AbigailKinney4life



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Face-Fucking, Geralt Has Issues, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Jaskier's had enough, Light Bondage, M/M, Not a BDSM-Fic, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Switching, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailKinney4life/pseuds/AbigailKinney4life
Summary: “I want to make youbegfor me, witcher.” Jaskier said.“I beg for no man, bard.” Geralt growled.Or: Geralt begs.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 90
Kudos: 960
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad.  
> Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.” – _Wuthering Heights_ , Emily Bronte.

The thing about Geralt was that he was an alpha male.

He had to be, or else how would he have bested the other boys at Kaer Morhen? How would he have fought his brothers for victory, for honour, for what little food they had at mealtimes? How would he have survived this long in a world of humans who beat him, branded him, starved and mocked and brutalised him – for the White Wolf, everything in his life had been a battle, and the only way to survive was to win.

So, it really should have come to no surprise to Jaskier that his witcher treated sex the same way.

Jaskier was very much _not_ a witcher. He was a lover of all fine things. One of those things just happened to be being fucked in the ass until he couldn’t walk straight.

But to call the famous bard an exclusive bottom, well, frankly, was doing him a disservice.

Jaskier wasn’t on every lord’s hitlist for no good reason. No one made those kinds of enemies without fucking their way across the continent and leaving a trail of angry cuckolds and satisfied lovers behind. It was true that, for every person who hated Jaskier, their partner was pleased to see him.

He’d made countesses _weep_ with naught but his mouth; tongue so deep in their pussies he could taste their husbands. He’d fucked viscounts’ sons at their weddings, bending them over banquet tables and ramming their holes while they begged for it. He’d mounted knights as they did their horses – rolling his hips just so that the good sir’s eyes were rolling back into their helmets. He left them weak, and wanting – and now destiny had connived to do the same to him.

For here was that illustrious lover, his back against a stable wall, knees pressed against his ears and body bent double. Gloved hands gripped the tender flesh of his thighs as a cock pounded into his helpless body: the entire length of the witcher’s herculean dick disappearing into his fluttering hole with each and every thrust. His prostate felt battered, abused – but manhandled like this, Jaskier could hardly protest. He couldn’t even wriggle. All he could do was take it, the heavy pressure of being stuffed so full with cock slowly driving him mad.

Jaskier’s entire body shuddered. Saliva dripped from his mouth, open in a silent scream as his eyes rolled backwards and his stomach clenched, almost painfully, as a third orgasm unfurled through his spent cock. Pitiful white dollops joined the sheen of sweat and seed already dribbling down his stomach. Still Geralt rammed into him. Stimulated him.

Jaskier stopped breathing, his throat straining under the effort of a violent convulsion seizing his body. He could feel Geralt’s heavy cockhead in his stomach, and that was no exaggeration. Bent double, the soft skin of Jaskier’s lower abdomen bulged outward on every one of the witcher’s deep thrusts until Geralt groaned, shuddered, and the soft pouch within the bard filled with his warm seed.

Breathing heavily, and bracing Jaskier against the wall as gently as possible, Geralt pulled his cock, still impossibly hard, from Jaskier’s body, drawing a ragged moan from the bard as come poured from his gaping hole like uncorking a fizzing bottle of champagne.

Geralt let Jaskier’s legs down next. Jaskier winced as his leg muscles tightened and contracted after being stretched taut for so long, before his feet touched the ground. Geralt’s arms found his waist and held him steady as he took long, ragged breaths – his stomach rolling rapidly like rippling waves.

A gloved hand found Jaskier’s cheek and his chin was drawn up, stiff neck protesting, and then he was face to face with his witcher.

Geralt was still fully clad in his black, studded armour with his swords slung dangerously on his back. The stiff red cock twitching against his abdomen was the only contrast.

Roach whinnied, as if in judgement, a few feet away.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asked softly.

Jaskier hummed, a weak but radiant smile on his voice. “ _So_ okay.” His voice came out hoarse. “Had I known what a, err, _voracious_ mood you’d be in when I came to greet you, I would have prepared better.”

He was aware that his finery, torn from his body the moment Geralt had dismounted Roach, lay ruined somewhere in the hay.

“Sorry.” Geralt said, but he didn’t sound sorry. “That bruxa took me for a few rounds. Killing it was,” he growled, nipping playfully at Jaskier’s neck, “I just had to have you right now.”

Jaskier laughed throatily. “Looks like you’re not done yet.” He replied, running a hand up Geralt’s stiff cock, still warm and wet from his asshole. Geralt groaned gutturally before resting his forehead against Jaskier’s and nodding down at his come-soaked midsection.

“I think you’ve had enough.” He said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, still managing to look cocky even though he was naked and wrecked.

“Geralt, I am no one-trick pony.” He admonished. “I can please man or woman; in any way they desire.” He finished with a dramatic flourish, voice heavy with implication, before sinking to his knees – Christ, it felt good on his leg muscles not to stand – and slurping Geralt’s cockhead into his mouth.

A hand was in his hair immediately, shoving him down, forcing a few more inches of cock into his unready mouth. Jaskier choked, drool dribbling from his stuffed mouth as his throat fluttered and contracted around the thick cock it was trying to expel.

Geralt shuddered and growled at the desperate, choked noises coming from his bard, at the obscene, heady scent of pure pleasure rolling off him.

Breathing through his nose, Jaskier’s hands trailed around Geralt’s waist, giving his ass an encouraging and appreciate squeeze through his leather trousers.

Geralt wasted no time, fucking Jaskier’s mouth with short, sharp thrusts, drawing the filthiest squelching from Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier moaned, low and satiated, and would have come again if he could. Geralt gasped sharply as Jaskier’s throat contracted around his cock. He tightened his hand in Jaskier’s hair, holding him still and aborting any attempt Jaskier made at moving his mouth or pleasing Geralt with his tongue. The witcher plowed forward, again and again, using Jaskier’s throat like a fuck hole.

Tears streamed from Jaskier’s eyes as come shot down his throat, so far down he couldn’t even taste it.

Geralt pulled out in one swift movement, releasing Jaskier’s hair simultaneously. Jaskier fell forward, bracing himself on his hands on the floor as he spluttered, flecks of white coating his tongue and spraying onto the hay.

Oxygen flooded his lungs and he took a moment to breathe deeply before he looked up.

Geralt, finally softened, was tucking himself back into his leather trousers when he caught sight of Jaskier’s red-rimmed eyes and panic fluttered across his handsome features.

“Hey, I’m fine.” Jaskier assured him as he got to his feet. His voice was wrecked. “Fuck, Geralt-“he stumbled slightly. “You could never hurt me. Gods, I love you.” With that, the bard wrapped his arms around the witcher’s neck and Geralt kissed him, his hands settling on Jaskier’s hips and pulling him close. Geralt could taste himself on the bard’s tongue.

He moaned quietly, roughly; that marking, that ownership, it was more intoxicating than any orgasm could be.

“So, back to what I was saying before,” Jaskier continued conversationally, not unwinding his hands from Geralt’s neck. “Hello.”

…

It didn’t happen often, but when Geralt was contracted to remove a threat from some of the highest in the land, he was sometimes invited to use their property and riches for all his needs. It made it look like Lords and Viscounts were being gracious and courteous to their esteemed guest, but Geralt knew the truth – it was to keep him hidden from the town so the townsfolk didn’t catch wind – let alone sight – of a _witcher_ among them. Whether it was so they could protect their people from the monster, or the witcher, Geralt didn’t know. Blaviken still hung over him like a foul stench.

But Geralt had played this game for decades. Lord Henrile, esteemed mayor of Woodhaerst, a prehistoric, isolated town encased by woodland, had contracted him to rid that very woodland of a Leshy, a forest monster born only to kill, that had torn cattle apart and pulled the errant towns member for their bed to devour. He told Geralt that secrecy was paramount – his people were stifled, brutish and afraid and would charge head long into the fight with no regard for their own safety. He wanted Geralt to kill it, and act as if it had never lived in the first instance.

Geralt had agreed, for a rather substantial sum, and been shown to a bedchamber on the top floor of Lord Henrile’s manor house. The sight of the large bedroom, with its plush double bed and steaming bath, only served to put him in a foul mood.

Armed guards stood a little way down the corridor. Geralt could smell them. They probably had orders to dispatch of him should anything happen – despite the fact the only reason he was here at all was to protect their lives and the lives of their children from the beast that lurked in the woods.

He surveyed his gilded cage again distrustfully. _You are a prisoner; this is your cell_. His mind told him. Like a lion being placated with meat so it wouldn’t bite its captor. Like Geralt were a half-man, not a man at all, a beast. He was not in comfort here, not protected here. He was on guard, his muscles coiled and ready to strike the moment the door creaked.

He sat on the floor and pulled his sword, iron, from his back and busied himself, distracted himself, by sharpening the blade. Dark, furious eyes focused on the task at hand.

He wanted to kill the Leshy, get out of Woodhaerst and never look back.

…

Jaskier was having a far better time.

Lord Henrile, much to his chagrin but Jaskier’s delight, was a widowed father to five comely daughters who had been confined to their house since the beast had begun plaguing the townsfolk – to them, Jaskier was the first company, and male company at that, they had had in many days. They made no attempts to hide their lavishing affection and warm pleas for him to sing to them. Obviously, Jaskier obliged.

The eldest daughter, Marion, no older than twenty, with a cascade of sunlight-blonde hair, excused herself shortly after dinner and left in a hurry with a worried look on her face.

When questioned, her father answered: “she is afraid of having the witcher so close.” The Lord muttered sadly into his wine chalice. “Poor girl. No senses.”

Jaskier paid her no mind, however, as the other four daughters, sixteen and eighteen at most, were most impressed by his rakish charms and soft singing voice as he serenaded them with a ballad he’d written for the most beautiful girl he’d ever met – which happened to be whichever girl he had the fortune to be sat with at that moment.

As he accepted another goblet of wine, he wished that Geralt had not sequestered himself away upstairs. The company of such charming hosts would have been the very thing to dispel the unease Jaskier knew Geralt felt with these sorts of jobs.

Also, if he were being honest with himself, the girls were all over him and he kind of wanted Geralt to see it. Not to make him jealous, exactly, just to remind him that, while Geralt could easily take him apart, Jaskier could do it to. Sometimes people fell at _his_ feet.

“Ladies, I must bid you goodnight.” Jaskier said after a few enjoyable hours, picking up his lute and bowing deeply to a chorus of protests from pretty mouths.

“No, please, you must stay with us a while longer.” Giselle, with golden hair falling in elegant ringlets, entreated, while her sibling smiled beside her. Jaskier was _this_ close to accidentally talking himself into an incestuous orgy when Anna, a brunette, piped up from behind him-

“Don’t go to that horrible witcher, he might devour you as you sleep.”

Jaskier whirled on one foot until he was face to face with her. Everyone went silent. Even Jaskier had to admit that was a little dramatic.

Still, his afront sat thick and heavy in the air. He hugged his lute awkwardly.

“Yes, so, goodnight fair ladies.” He reiterated. “And…and fear not, my _valiant_ witcher will eradicate the beast from your town.”

He bowed again, hastily, and stole from the room.

As he made his way up to his room, he didn’t really pay much mind to Anna’s comments. He was used to it, and far worse, after years of being by Geralt’s side. But that, coupled with Marion’s hasty exit, made him start to feel like maybe they weren’t really guests in this house.

He passed a closed door in a deserted hallway and stopped, ears pricking up. He pressed his ear to the door as an unmistakable low moan floated out to him.

He blinked before shaking his head and moving away – then – again, a pained, and distinctly feminine, gasp.

Concerned, Jaskier opened the door a crack, as quietly as possible, and peered inside. A four-poster bed dominated the room, and atop the bed lay Marion, Lord Henrile’s eldest daughter, her blonde hair framing her face like a halo. She was stark-naked and a man lay atop her, holding her pale legs high and driving into her body. Beside him, was a guard’s helmet.

For a moment, Jaskier feared the worst and was ready to charge in with nothing but a lute, until a smile crossed Marion’s face and she turned her head, pressing a sloppy kiss to the guard’s lips. The guard held her as he nuzzled her neck and Jaskier deflated.

So that was why she’d stolen away so furtively.

It was sad, really, Jaskier thought. Two people in love who couldn’t be together because of their social standing in society. But then it was also joyous, that love finds a way regardless. He could write a ballad about it.

He knew he should have left them, not used to being a voyeur, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of them.

The guard, his toned body, his muscles rippled under his skin as he moved, the slick noise in the air from every thrust – it must have felt amazing.

Jaskier wrapped a hand around his own dick. He wasn’t hard, but he was aching when he realised, in that moment, that he sorely missed fucking someone.

He hadn’t stuck his dick in anything since Geralt, least of all the witcher himself, which was the only place he wanted to stick it, if he were being honest with himself.

He tightened a hand around himself, trying to simulate, trying to imagine, the tight, sucking heat of Geralt’s body going lax around him. He imagined the witcher on his back, grey hair pooling around his face, body stretched and vulnerable before him. His eyes were closed, and he had a look of calm bliss on his face as Jaskier fucked him, as Jaskier made him look like that.

Gods, Jaskier’s cock filled at the thought.

“Please, I need you.” Marion whimpered.

_“Please,” Geralt muttered desperately, voice uncharacteristically high as his legs quaked around Jaskier’s waist. “Jaskier, I need you.”_

Jaskier’s cock was fully hard now. Just the thought of his big, tough witcher desperate, whimpering, _begging,_ because of him, was an aphrodisiac the likes of which the bard had never experienced before.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Marion suddenly moved, flipping the guard onto his back and planting her hands on either side of his head. She rolled her hips in a long, practiced stroke, and an entirely too loud groan escaped the guard as his head fell back against the pillow.

Jaskier stole away then, shutting the door and giving them some privacy. But he stopped dead a few feet down the corridor, staring at the carpet as a lump formed in his stomach.

Because it was true, wasn’t it? That was what he used to be like. He used to be like both of them, a giving partner in any position, his lover’s pleasure always, always tantamount to his own.

And now, what was he?

Geralt used him for sex. Not in a bad way, Geralt didn’t _use_ him. He loved him and was a selfless lover, of that, Jaskier was sure.

But Geralt treated sex the same way he treated a fight – as something that was won, controlled, where the strong protected the weak. He didn’t let Jaskier love him back because it was weakness? Because he didn’t feel safe enough to be weak around him?

Geralt didn’t treat Jaskier like an agent of his own pleasure, of his own _life_. But Jaskier had been dealing with Geralt and his emotional constipation and deep-buried insecurities for long enough to know that witcher’s lived by strength, and they responded to strength. Maybe it was time for Jaskier to re-establish his agency as someone who was a lover, protector, partner – not just a receptacle for it.

He had known, the moment he had chosen Geralt, that it would take a while to break down his walls and soothe his trauma, but they only had the rest of their lives and Jaskier certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

…

Jaskier jumped back slightly at the two guards, and their swords, loitering a few feet from his door. He slipped inside quickly and shut the door on them, and this strange night.

Once safely tucked away, he turned to the room.

Geralt was sat on the floor at the far side by a cabinet, stripped down to fabric breeches and a loose-fitting black shirt. His legs were crossed, eyes closed; an array of bottled potions sat on the floor next to him.

Jaskier, deciding not to disturb him, quietly crossed the room and placed his lute on the bed while he softly shucked out of his boots and baby blue doublet. The cool air in the room hit his bare chest through the open front of his undershirt and he sighed.

“I take it you had a fun evening with the girls.”

“Jesus, Geralt! I…” Jaskier jumped back, heart racing as he turned to see Geralt hadn’t moved, but his yellow eyes were open and trained on him. “What, what?” He stuttered, putting his hands on his hips in an attempt at composure after his fright.

Geralt merely nodded at him.

Jaskier looked down at himself. He had a lump in the front of his trousers where his erection hadn’t flagged.

“Oh.” He said, embarrassed, automatically covering himself with one hand. “No, I was…thinking of you, actually, um…”

Noise of fabric shifting filled the quiet room as Geralt relaxed his legs and leant back on his arms. A small, bemused smile settled on his lips and he raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.

“Is that so?” He asked rhetorically, voice heavy with implication.

Geralt, stretched and languid, a smug look on his face, was not exactly inviting Jaskier to tell him he had been fantasizing about shoving his cock in him and making him weep.

In fact, it was the opposite.

Jaskier crossed the room wordlessly, standing astride Geralt’s outstretched legs before his knees hit the hard wood floor and he sunk into Geralt’s lap. His cock pressed deliciously against the hard lines of Geralt’s abdomen and Jaskier kissed him.

Geralt hummed as Jaskier’s tongue slid against his own. He kissed him back, met pressure with pressure, until the hitherto quiet room filled with the slow, gentle lapping of their joined mouths. But Geralt didn’t move his hands from their relaxed position behind him. He couldn’t move his hands, really, otherwise they would topple backwards. But the effect meant that Geralt was essentially pinned, which sent a thrill up Jaskier’s spine.

He immediately leant forward, putting his body weight against the witcher’s chest and forcing him to brace his hands more firmly on the floor and immobilize himself.

Jaskier wasted no time before running his hands over Geralt’s strained biceps, heaving chest, thick neck, feeling those muscles, that power, rippling beneath his fingertips and all his, if only for a moment, before his hands finally tangled in Geralt’s hair. Geralt moaned low into Jaskier’s mouth and Jaskier tightened his grip, tugging, and Geralt’s cock filled against his lap. Was it the manhandling? Was it the pain? Was it the feeling of letting go and having someone decide that for you?

Jaskier felt giddy, drunk on the small amount of power afforded to him, and responded by grinding his cock into Geralt’s. The witcher growled and bucked his hips, catching Jaskier’s sensitive flesh on the upstroke.

Jaskier moaned. No, no, this was wrong, _he_ was in charge. He ground his cock down more firmly, pinning Geralt’s hips to the floor with his body weight. Wasting no time, he worked a hand between their bodies, fumbling with Geralt’s waistband for a moment before his hand enclosed around his meaty length. Geralt couldn’t stop him, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice as he groaned and bucked up as much as he could into Jaskier’s fist.

Jaskier’s body was positively singing. Finally, he was the one making Geralt squirm, making his eyes roll back with pleasure. He responded by tugging Geralt’s cock with harsh, sharp jolts. Without lubrication, his tugs were rough, just on the edge of painful, drawing filthy moans from Geralt’s mouth as the witcher surged forward and kissed him, biting his bottom lip roughly. Jaskier gasped, responding instinctively and yanking Geralt’s hair roughly, forcing his head back and exposing his throat. He nipped sharply at Geralt’s neck in retaliation. The groan Geralt let out was guttural and Jaskier was surprised to feel moisture on his hand.

He moved his attentions away from Geralt’s reddening neck and looked between them to see the expanding wet patch on the front of Geralt’s breeches. So maybe the alpha male liked being obedient more than he was letting on?

“Did you come?” Jaskier asked breathlessly.

But Geralt didn’t look embarrassed, he looked…content. Gently, Jaskier released his cock and drew his hand out, seeing the streaks of white on his palm and marveling that _he_ put them there.

“Hmm.” Geralt shifted his hips forward, tipping Jaskier back in his lap so he could sit up fully. Then strong hands, cold from the hard wood floor, were untucking his shirt and running up the expanse of his bare back. Jaskier shivered.

“That’s the affect you have on me, little lark.”

Jaskier missed Geralt’s hands on him. Whenever he was in Geralt’s arms like this, he questioned why he ever chose to leave them.

Jaskier kissed him again. It was a slow, deep kiss. His brow furrowed under the effort of all he was trying to say without words.

When he pulled away, Geralt buried his head in Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier cradled him, pressing a soft kiss to his grey head.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, the vibrations tickling Jaskier’s neck. “Just don’t trust this place.”

“I know.” Jaskier admitted, pulling back and taking Geralt’s face in his hands. “But we’ll find the forest monster tomorrow and be out of here in no time at all.”

Geralt ‘hmm’d’ in appreciation at that.

“And besides,” Jaskier’s voice dropped a few octaves, “it would be a shame to let such a comfy bed go to waste.”

…

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the plush bed, running his hands over the bard’s now naked body. Jaskier shivered, eyes hooded, as Geralt knelt astride him, large hands framing his hips before reaching for his own shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Geralt…” Jaskier couldn’t help himself, reaching a hand up and running it over the unyielding grooves of Geralt’s abdomen, and going lower –

Geralt batted Jaskier’s hand away from his cock, as was often his way, before shifting his weight down Jaskier’s body.

Jaskier settled for covering his face with his hands, shivering, as he felt hot breath ghost over his throbbing dick.

“Geralt, fuck, _please_.” He whined.

Geralt huffed, Jaskier could hear the smirk in it, before strong hands curled around his knees and his legs were wrenched forward. Jaskier yelped, loud enough for the guards to hear, and scrambled his hands away from his eyes, planting them on the bed to anchor himself.

He looked down and saw his thighs straining against Geralt’s shoulders, the witcher’s head buried between his legs. Then he felt a hot, wet drag across his exposed hole.

“Uh.” His head collapsed back, hitting the blankets. Geralt licked again, more firmly, before he was lapping precise, lava-hot stripes around the sensitive rim of muscle there.

“Geralt!” Jaskier moaned, legs quivering around the witcher as his hands tangled in Geralt’s hair. Geralt’s fingers enclosed around his wrists, not moving his hands away, just holding him steady, so he couldn’t tug, couldn’t urge, all he could do was lie there and take it as Geralt’s tongue sunk into the relaxed rim of his aching hole.

Jaskier _spasmed_ at the hot, pulsing heat suddenly spearing him open. It wasn’t like Geralt had never eaten him out before. In fact, he favoured the way it made the bard mewl when he was preparing him. But he’d never done it so _furiously_ before. His nose prodded the crease of Jaskier’s ass as the witcher’s hands abandoned his wrists and curled around his hips, hauling him forward and forcing his probing tongue deeper into Jaskier’s body. Geralt curled his tongue, licking his quivering hole like a starving man.

Jaskier’s eyes slid shut and his hand migrated to his cock unthinkingly, wrapping around his engorged length and jerking himself with lazy tugs.

Geralt’s tongue left his hole and his legs were let down until they splayed around Geralt’s thick thighs. Jaskier whined in disappointment at the loss of Geralt’s tongue but it was quickly replaced by an oiled finger sinking easily into his lax hole.

Jaskier groaned at the sudden fullness, the hard pressure _exactly_ where he needed it. Fuck, how did Geralt know his body better than he did?

Geralt massaged the damp ring of muscle with his thumb as he slid a second finger inside him. The second didn’t slide in as easily. Jaskier felt the stretch and his neck strained against the intrusion and the warm burn that prickled through his groin and up his stomach.

Geralt ran a hand soothingly over Jaskier’s thigh to relax him as he crooked his fingers upward, rubbing insistently against that spot inside him. Jaskier groaned, loudly, and the hand on his cock sped up.

“Don’t you dare come.” Geralt instructed, fingers still nailing his prostate unrelentingly, so Jaskier had no choice but to let go of his own cock to halt his impending orgasm. His cock twitched in protest, pearls of precome gathering at the slit in stark contrast to the deep red crown jerking uselessly.

“Well, then hurry up and fuck me!” He demanded.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as he pulled his fingers from Jaskier’s body with an obscene squelch.

He stood at the foot of the bed and slipped off his breeches. His cock, still rock hard despite coming earlier, stood thick and heavy against his stomach. Geralt wrapped a still-oiled hand around himself at the sight of Jaskier, stretched out and helpless, before him.

Geralt gave himself a few long, measured strokes, lathering himself in oil and humming as his fist reflexively tightened around his head.

It was like dangling meat in front of a starving man. “Will you hurry up?” Jaskier huffed.

Geralt smirked as he knelt back on the bed. He grabbed the bard’s thighs and dragged him forward roughly until his ass was flush with the witcher’s hips. Jaskier squeaked in surprise.

Geralt took his slick cock back into his hand. Jaskier was looking down at them. His oiled hole was glistening and contracting wildly as if in anticipation and Geralt couldn’t resist rubbing the crown of his cock over the fluttering muscle, catching on the rim but not quite slipping inside.

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice was coarse. “Fuck me, damnit!”

“Didn’t that Djinn teach you anything?” Geralt asked, voice low. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Geralt’s darkened eyes met Jaskier’s suddenly weary ones, before his cock head finally, _finally_ breached that tight ring of muscle.

“Oh, _Geralt_.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt, true to his word, wasted no time in letting Jaskier accommodate to his huge girth before he was pulling out and slamming back in again and _oh, fuck, yes_ , Jaskier’s brain screamed out. His legs tightened around Geralt’s waist, holding him tight, drawing him deeper. If Jaskier had his way, he’d never let him go.

Geralt braced his hands around Jaskier’s thighs as he fucked him open, spearing him like an animal. His cock head rammed into Jaskier’s prostate with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure through the bard’s body and jolting his untouched cock.

“This what you wanted, bard?” Geralt growled. His voice was hoarse with exertion, his stomach muscles rippling and glistening with sweat as he plowed his hips forward again and again. “My cock fucking you so hard you can’t speak?”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice was high, strained. “ _Yes_.”

Geralt shifted his hips forward, sinking deeper into the bard until his ass was pinned by Geralt’s sharp hip bones. His thrusts became short, tight, stuffing him full, pounding his prostate with near-constant pressure.

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. His chest heaved; his body jolted further up the bed with every thrust. _Every time_ they fucked; it was the best time.

“Gods, Geralt, fuck-“ Jaskier started babbling. “So good, so fucking good, Gods, please, don’t stop!” he tightened his ass around Geralt’s cock and shoved himself down, desperately seeking _more, more_ but he couldn’t move.

He could feel his knees around Geralt’s waist, the pressure of their hips pressed together, and imagined how easy it would be to flip them. He could roll Geralt onto his back, sit on his cock, let gravity drive it into his guts, and ride him until the witcher was spurting uncontrollably up inside him.

Body thrumming with ecstasy, and feeling particularly bold, Jaskier planted his hands against Geralt’s chest and pushed his hips up, tilting them until Geralt was forced onto his side.

Geralt blinked, rolling Jaskier back onto his back and meeting him with a confused stare. Jaskier pushed again, grinding himself down on Geralt’s cock, hands pressing more firmly against Geralt’s chest – Geralt’s hands left his thighs and gripped his own, pinning his wrists above his head with lightning-fast speed. Geralt’s thrusts hadn’t stopped but they had slowed, pumping imperceptibly in and out of Jaskier’s body as he held him down.

Exhilaration coursed through Jaskier as he struggled against Geralt’s hands. He freed himself quickly before Geralt’s hands moved to his forearms, holding him down with such strength he was completely immobilized. The witcher’s expression was hard and Jaskier suddenly got the feeling that they were _fighting_ instead of fucking.

“Geralt!” He reprimanded breathlessly, kicking the backs of Geralt’s thighs with his feet as he attempted to pull his arms free. Each jerked movement nudged Geralt’s cock in his ass and Jaskier thought he was going to go mad with pleasure and powerlessness.

They tussled for a few moments until –

“Jaskier!” It came out sternly. A hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him to the bed and Geralt stilled completely, eyes boring into Jaskier in the same way he looked at a monster.

Jaskier froze, the room went silent and they stared at each other.

Geralt’s hand tightened imperceptibly around Jaskier’s throat. Not choking him, but establishing dominance, providing gentle persuasion to go back into submission.

Jaskier’s eyes never left Geralt’s as he let his hands fall limply to the bed, breathing heavily as his hips relaxed the best they could with a stiff cock still spearing him open.

Geralt’s expression cleared slightly, but he kept one hand around Jaskier’s throat, pinning him down as if expecting Jaskier to attack him again should he let him go, before he shifted back and sunk back into him again.

Jaskier swallowed, eyes still on Geralt but fluttering with unmistakable pleasure, silently urging Geralt on.

It wasn’t long before Geralt’s thrusts picked up and soon he was fucking into Jaskier without mercy. The bard groaned, but it came out as more of a gurgle with the hand around his throat. Then, Geralt’s free hand was wrapped around his dick, stroking him with fast, hard tugs and Jaskier was crying out as he came in Geralt’s fist.

Geralt let go of his neck, leaning his head down and kissing Jaskier’s chest, his collarbone, his neck as his thrusts slowed, and he groaned into Jaskier’s neck as he spilled inside him.

They lay there, breathing heavily for a few long moments until Jaskier tugged Geralt’s head gently from his neck.

“Come here.” He said softly as he brought Geralt face to face with him. He saw what he expecting to see on Geralt’s face: worry, shame, apology. Jaskier responded by kissing him.

“I love you.” He nuzzled his nose against Geralt’s.

Relief crossed Geralt’s face as he collapsed back onto the bard.

Jaskier held him for a long time until Geralt’s breathing evened out and was softly blowing on Jaskier’s neck.

Even if the witcher hadn’t figured out how to be at peace with the bard when he was awake, he’d figured it out in his dreams.

…

It took two days to find and kill the Leshy in the woods. Geralt dumped its hefty corpse in the garden of Lord Henrile who thanked him profusely, paid him his due, and had his guards sequester the beast away for burning before anyone saw it. Jaskier noticed Marion’s lover among them and inexplicably blushed at the sight of him.

The daughters were overjoyed. Not with Geralt’s heroic efforts, but with the fact that they were no longer under house arrest and were in the streets with their friends within minutes of them returning with the dead Leshy.

“Let’s get out of here.” Geralt muttered to Jaskier as he passed him with a bag heavy with coin.

Jaskier nodded. “Fine, let’s go. Perhaps you’ll indulge me to peruse the markets for a moment and stock up on provisions before we hit the road.

Geralt grunted and tossed him the bag. “I’ll get Roach ready.” Was all he said before he turned and stalked away.

Jaskier gave his heartiest thanks to Lord Henrile for his kind hospitality before he wandered out into the centre of Woodhaerst. It wasn’t exactly a very forward-thinking town. The houses were mud and stick and the produce in the market was being carted around on donkey-back. Jaskier himself got a few looks as he passed, between silk traders and fish merchants, perhaps for the fact that he had a lute slung on his back, or the fact he was wearing a rather expensive red doublet. Maybe it was just because he was new in town. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He just wanted bread and ale for the trip, maybe some lavender oil, and then he was gone.

As he was bartering with the bread merchant who was trying to get him to sell his ‘fancy-looking elven lute’, he heard the tell-tale whispers of two old women gossiping by a fruit stall.

“…he’s here with a witcher, apparently.” He caught the tail-end of.

Ah, so _that’s_ why they were staring.

“What’s a witcher doing in Woodhaerst?” Her friend asked in a hushed tone.

“I don’t know. I didn’t realise they took human slaves; he could have any one of us!”

Jaskier’s eyes focused on a blooming loaf, forcing himself not to turn and announce he could, in fact, hear every word of their gossiping.

“You think the mutant kidnapped him?”

“According to Lord Henrile’s daughters, he’s _sleeping_ with the witcher.”

“No!”

“Poor soul probably bewitched by the beast’s potions. Such a handsome young man, now nothing more than the devil’s whore…”

“Ladies!” He turned to them, bright smile on his face. The women shrunk back, eyeing him wearily.

“You must allow me to tell you what exquisite beauties inhabit this town. Had I known I would have extended my stay. However, myself and my heroic travel companion must be making haste. Good day to you both!”

He bowed deeply at them as they stared, dumbfounded by his strange outburst, before turning to walk away and colliding with the chest of a tall man with dark hair wearing a faded brown jerkin and a scowl on his face. When Jaskier righted himself, and his purchases, he realized that the tall man hadn’t moved. In fact, he was now flanked by three of his friends. They weren’t particularly imposing looking men, but they didn’t look happy to see him.

“G…gentlemen.” He hesitated.

“Is it true?” The tall man asked, fists clenched. “There was a monster here?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted back and forth. He shrugged. “Uh, yes, unofficially, yes. Stalking your charming woodland. But, no need to fret, my companion disposed of it.”

“A witcher.” A shorter man stood behind his friend spat, spitting on the floor. “Where is he?”

Jaskier lowered his arms slowly, assessing the situation very carefully. The towns people shopping around them had come to a halt and were watching the exchange interestedly. Behind the men, Jaskier could see Giselle and Anna, and he cursed them.

“He’s gone.”

“What, and left his whore behind?” Another man in a thick Scottish accent said, striding forward and shoving Jaskier in the chest. “You expect us to believe that?”

Jaskier set his jaw and squared up to the scot.

“What the _fuck_ did you just call me?” He asked, aggression in his voice. “I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. You’d better get out of my way.”

“A Viscount?” The scot spat. “You’re a disgrace. Could have been a noble man but all ya are now is a warm hole for witcher scum to stick their cocks into.”

Furious, and not remotely thinking, Jaskier punched the scot in the face. The scot, surprised, fell back onto his arse as pain exploded in Jaskier’s knuckles and a gasp spread around the market.

The tall man and his friend helped the scot to his feet. He had blood pouring from his mouth and he spat, something bone white in the blood on the floor.

Jaskier stared furiously at the scot. “Yeah, could a whore do that, you fucking piece of shit!” He snarled.

“Come on, leave this freak alone.” The tall man said quietly before he led his friends away.

Suddenly feeling the weight of all of the stares on him, Jaskier bowed his head and stalked away. Shame and anger and fury burning on his face.

He found Geralt in the stable of Lord Henrile’s manor house, stroking Roach’s nose and feeding her from his hand.

The witcher turned when he walked in, a scowl on his face.

“What?” Jaskier asked testily, not in the mood for whatever had put Geralt in a foul temper. He just wanted to get out of this godforsaken town and never return.

“I smell blood.” Geralt said.

Jaskier didn’t reply, instead he busied himself with stuffing bread into Roach’s saddlebags. Geralt’s hand snaked out and grasped his own. Jaskier gasped at the discomfort as Geralt inspected the litter of bleeding cuts on his knuckles.

“You punched someone.” He said, something close to surprise in his voice.

Jaskier snatched his hand away. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He said.

Geralt didn’t say a word. Jaskier finished putting his items away in mad silence.

“Get on Roach.” Geralt said, climbing atop the horse and offering a hand to Jaskier. Jaskier ignored him, mounting the mare on his own as Geralt led her out of the stables.

They travelled in silence. Jaskier’s hand was beginning to throb but he shoved the feeling down. He was too pissed to care about it right now, besides, he had no idea how long they’d be travelling so it was best not to concern himself with it.

Jaskier was surprised then, when Geralt stopped in the next town over just after nightfall. Jaskier followed the witcher wordlessly into a tavern as Geralt got them a room, shoved all their stuff in Jaskier’s arms and disappeared off.

Confused, Jaskier ordered himself a much-needed drink and went up to their room, unsure how long they were going to be there or how long he was going to be alone.

Not very long, it turned out.

Geralt returned soon after, shucking his armour and laying some things on the bed. A bowl of water, what looked like salve and a neatly folded pile of bandages.

Some of Jaskier’s annoyance ebbed away, but then also some of it returned. What, because he couldn’t look after himself? He needed his _master_ to take care of him?

“Come here.” Geralt said and Jaskier almost didn’t, before he plonked on the end of the bed. Geralt knelt down before him, like a servant to a king, and lifted his bruising hand gently into the bowl of warm water.

Jaskier hissed as the water stung his cuts but sat diligently as Geralt applied soothing salve to his knuckles and wrapped them in a thin, white bandage.

“You shouldn’t be damaging your hands.” Geralt said. “How else will you drive me crazy with your music?”

“I’ll be fine.” Jaskier said measuredly. “I can do this myself; you know.”

“Someone’s got to protect you.” Geralt said, tying off the bandage and releasing Jaskier’s hand.

“I don’t need protecting.” Jaskier said testily.

“Is that why you almost get yourself killed every five minutes?” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier didn’t smile.

Geralt sighed, apparently having had enough of Jaskier’s bad mood. “Tell me what’s wrong?” He said, not rising from his position knelt before the bard.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you.” Jaskier said pointedly. “I know you’ll just blame yourself and I don’t want…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt cut across the babble.

Jaskier sighed, inspecting the rather neat bandage on his hand to avoid having to look at Geralt. “You always say you’re not a man.”

“I’m not.” Geralt said immediately. “I’m a witcher.”

“Right, that’s fine.” Jaskier finally looked at him. “People don’t see you as a man, and, because I’m with you, they now see me as less of one.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re never going to be equal, Geralt.” Jaskier exploded, pushing himself off the bed and stalking to the other side of the room and facing the wall, crossing his arms. “You’re stronger than me, better than me, which is fine, I know that, it’s not a competition but…” He sighed heavily, it hurt to admit. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t give you what you give me, and that breaks me, Geralt.”

He heard the floor creak as Geralt rose to his feet and crossed the room. Hands on his shoulders, on his cheeks, a soft kiss on his forehead.

“What you give me, bard, cannot be measured by any man.” He said softly, his breath intermingling with Jaskier’s.

Jaskier closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against Geralt’s and breathing in that warm, comforting scent for a moment. Geralt’s hands were still holding his face, and Jaskier wrapped his fingers around the witcher’s wrists.

“Please tell me you want me.” He begged quietly. “That I’m enough for you.”

“You’re more than I deserve.”

Then they were kissing again, unsure who initiated it. A soft brush of lips, of tongues, like they were melting into each other.

Geralt’s hands held him close as Jaskier stroked down Geralt’s back, slipping under the waistband of his breeches, squeezing the soft cheeks of his bottom, running his finger along the cleft of his ass, until it brushed against the witcher’s hole.

“Jaskier.”

“Let me fuck you.” Jaskier said quietly into Geralt’s mouth. “Let me give you what you give me.”

But Geralt was shaking his head, pulling Jaskier’s hands free gently and placing them by his sides.

“That’s never going to happen, Jaskier.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked, mind unwillingly drawn back to what they’d called him in the marketplace. _Devil’s whore._ “Because it’s debasing? Because you do it to me every day, Geralt, so what does that make me?”

“That’s not it.” Geralt sighed.

“Then what is it?” Jaskier demanded. “You just said I was enough for you.” He grabbed Geralt’s neck and kissed him, hard. “You’re mine, Geralt, all mine.” Jaskier whispered against him. “I want to make you come screaming my name, I want to make you feel so full of me you’ll never feel enough without me.” He pulled back and nipped at Geralt’s neck. “I want to make you _beg_ for me, witcher.” Jaskier said.

Geralt pulled his hand away from his throat and created a small but cavernous distance between them. His face was stony. He looked the same as the first time they’d met in Posada.

“I beg for no man, bard.” Geralt growled.

He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Jaskier alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: for anyone who doesn’t know, lavender oil is a natural relaxant with a very pleasant smell. It’s also used for dry skin and contains anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving properties, especially against burns. (I can hear my mum in my head as I type this: ‘oh you’ve burned yourself, quick, put some lavender on it’.)

Jaskier picked up the heap of errant bandages Geralt hadn’t used, intent on tidying them away, but instead found himself perched on the edge of the bed and pondering the day’s events in his mind.

He wasn’t particularly worried about his fight with Geralt. Sure, it hurt that Geralt didn’t trust him, that he hadn’t given himself to Jaskier the way Jaskier had given himself to Geralt, but Jaskier knew that Geralt had decades of abuse and trauma behind him. What Jaskier had experienced in the marketplace today was but a percentage of Geralt’s entire life, and even he hadn’t wanted to let Geralt in after that.

If he wanted Geralt to be able to trust him, he had to work at it. He had to somehow show his alpha male that he could be vulnerable.

Jaskier wound the bandages around his hand as he thought - then it struck him. He might just know where to start.

…

Downstairs in the tavern, Geralt was nursing a drink and feeling like a dick.

No doubt what had happened in Woodhaerst between Jaskier and whoever he’d _punched, for crying out loud,_ had been a fight about _him._ And with the way he was acting, Jaskier had no doubt been stripped of his humanity, his masculinity, by the townsfolk for being with a witcher. All Jaskier was doing by not telling him outright was protecting him, which was all he ever did. Fuck, Geralt hated himself sometimes. All the poor bard was trying to do was claw back some of the manhood that _Geralt_ had stripped him of by fucking him like a beast and by treating him as soft and vulnerable as a dandelion.

But Geralt couldn’t let him do that, could he? Even though he wanted to, fuck, of course he wanted to, but it went against every fibre of his being, everything Vesemir had ever taught him, to be vulnerable.

_When are you going to figure out he isn’t going to hurt you?_ A voice, that sounded suspiciously like Renfri’s, echoed in his head.

Geralt grunted, made up his mind, downed his pint and went back to the room.

Jaskier was stripped down to his undershirt and breeches, bent over a cabinet by the bed and fiddling with something Geralt couldn’t see. He abandoned whatever it was when he heard the tell-tale creak of wood as Geralt entered the room.

“Oh, hi.” He said, surprise evident in his voice. “I thought you’d gone.”

Something twinged in Geralt’s chest before he crossed the room to the bard.

“I’d never abandon you so easily.” He said before he took Jaskier in his arms.

Jaskier moaned, surprised and pleased, as he sunk into Geralt’s chest. Geralt just held him, breathing in the familiar scent of parchment and sweet perfume that clung to Jaskier like a second skin. On his best days, he smelt himself there, too.

“I came to apologise.” He said, voice low. “For being such a,” he signed, resigned, “such a witcher. You know I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Especially over my…pride.”

Jaskier was smiling against his chest and said – “I forgive you, you big oaf.”

Geralt’s mouth found his and kissed him. Jaskier made an appreciative noise and ran his hands along Geralt’s shoulder blades, feeling the ever-present tension coiled beneath his skin. Geralt’s hands migrated down to Jaskier’s hips, grasping him possessively and pulling him flush against his body until there was no space between them. Jaskier moaned and Geralt swallowed it, squeezing his arms around him as Geralt led them backwards to the bed.

He lay down, pulling Jaskier on top of him until the bard was straddling his waist, a familiar bulge tenting the front of his breeches. Jaskier wasted no time in grabbing Geralt through his trousers, giving the tender flesh a hard, desperate squeeze and Geralt let him, groaning at the unexpected pressure, before Jaskier reared back and sat on his haunches, putting his body weight on Geralt’s thighs.

“You can ride me, if you like.” Geralt said.

Jaskier smiled dopily. If this was Geralt’s definition of ‘sweet’, then bloody hell, it was working.

He took Geralt’s hands in his own, brought them to his face, kissed them. “Actually,” he muttered softly into his palms. “I thought we might try something a little different tonight.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow.

“I want to focus on you.” Jaskier explained. “Your pleasure. If you’d let me.”

Geralt didn’t blink but he was unused to such a request.

With a cock and stamina the likes of which he possessed, he was used to bringing Jaskier, and any partner, to the brink over and over again until they were wet puddles in his hand, sometimes literally, so for someone to forgo that, for the sake of him and his needs, was unheard of. If the words hadn’t come from Jaskier, he would have scarce believed them.

He nodded wordlessly in consent.

Jaskier smiled but he still looked a bit uncertain. It was the exact look he wore whenever he had to ask Geralt to do something for him that he knew he wouldn’t like. _Geralt, bodyguard me from vengeful royal cuckolds, Geralt, I drunkenly told this widow you’d scare of the stray dog living in her garden, Geralt-_

“I want to tie you up.”

Geralt did blink then. Jaskier had lent over to the cabinet by the bed and retrieved the bandages Geralt had procured to wrap his damaged hand, not play a part in their lovemaking.

“I…” Geralt tried.

“You can free yourself any time you wish.” Jaskier quickly clarified. “I mean, it’s not rope and you’re _you_ , obviously. Or you can ask to be freed any time and I will. I won’t do anything without your permission or consent, Geralt, I promise. I want to show you all I can give you.”

Geralt knew what this was. Jaskier was asking him to give over power and control to him; the bondage a metaphor for the emotional vulnerability he would give to Jaskier. That boy did love his metaphors.

“Okay.” Geralt didn’t know who said that, because it certainly didn’t sound like him. Jaskier was shaking his head.

“I don’t want you to say yes just to please me.” The bard explained. “I want you to want it, too.”

Geralt pushed himself up so he was leaning back on his elbows. “It’s hard to know what I want.” He tried to explain. “But I trust you, so I will try.”

“Okay.” Jaskier nodded, a blush rising in his cheeks before he leant down and kissed him. “We should have a word,” he decided, “a word that, if either of us says it, the other will know something’s wrong or uncomfortable and will stop.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something that will instantly turn you off and make you lose your hard-on. What about ‘Yennefer’?”

“Jaskier.”

“Okay, fine.” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

Geralt considered Jaskier’s parameters. “What about ‘mutant’?” He offered innocently.

Jaskier froze, but he didn’t say what he was thinking. Instead, he just nodded. “Okay, the ‘m’ word it is.”

With that, Jaskier hopped from on top of him and pulled him up from the bed.

Jaskier slid Geralt’s shirt from his body, letting it hit the floor as his hands roamed his chest before coming to a stop at the buttons on his trousers. Geralt just stood there, hands by his sides, watching wordlessly as Jaskier disrobed him until he was naked with nothing more than his medallion around his neck. Jaskier didn’t take it from him. For that, he was grateful.

Jaskier did pause, however, is if in thought, before he reached a hand up past Geralt’s neck and loosened the hair tie that kept his white locks from his face. Starlight wisps fell into his eyes and he swallowed.

He’d been naked around Jaskier before, many times, even before they were _involved_. But this was the first time he’d really felt _naked_ , exposed.

Jaskier made a pleased hum as his eyes roamed over the witcher’s body, tinge still present in his cheeks despite the fact that he’d proposed this, before his eyes found Geralt’s and he held a hand out to him.

Geralt took it, the warm contact relaxing him somewhat, and allowed Jaskier to lead him back to the bed.

He sat in the middle of the mattress, legs splayed out awkwardly as Jaskier fetched the bandages from where he’d abandoned them in the blankets and knelt by the edge of the bed, next to Geralt’s foot.

Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat, but Jaskier did not grab him, _yank him_ as he was expecting. Instead, the bard’s hand wrapped around the underside of his knee as he pressed fluttering kisses to his inner thigh and his knee cap distractedly as his other hand trailed down Geralt’s calf and soft fabric was wrapped around his ankle and tightened snugly.

Jaskier’s hands and mouth never left Geralt’s skin. He crawled up the bed and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, hand running down his thigh as he massaged firm but relaxing circles into the often-tense muscle.

Geralt sunk into the bed slightly, eyes still open but hooded, as he watched the bard wrap the bandage around his other ankle and tie it off at the bed post, restraining both of his legs. He pulled slightly, testing the strength of the fabric. The knots went taut but they weren’t painful around his skin. He could easily break out of them with enough force. He breathed.

“How are you doing?” Jaskier asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach as a hand went to his shoulder, pushing gently so his head was relaxing back against the bed.

Geralt rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m fine, bard.” He tried sarcastically, but there was a tremor to his voice.

Jaskier laughed quietly into his chest as he moved up, licking and nuzzling his neck.

Geralt let out a soft groan before Jaskier’s lips were on his. Geralt kissed him back with more force than he was expecting. Not realising how much he needed to kiss him until that moment. So bewitched was he by Jaskier’s soft lips and warm tongue pressing insistently against his, that he barely noticed the bard taking his hand, pressing it against the bed and tying an elegant loop around his wrist. Geralt’s free hand found his hair, pulling the bard closer, kissing him deeper, breathing in the scent of want and need and lust that cascaded off of him in waves and intoxicated Geralt more than the harshest of Cintran ale.

After a moment, Jaskier was laughing against his lips and attempting to pull away. Geralt didn’t let him.

“Geralt! I need my hands.” Jaskier said, pulling back and grinning with red, kiss-swollen lips glistening with spittle.

Geralt’s eyes wavered. He tried to move his right hand, tugging slightly and feeling the resistance of the bandage binding him to the bedpost.

“How…?” He asked.

Jaskier waggled an eyebrow at him in response before straddling him, reaching for his other hand and bringing it above his head. Geralt focused on the lines of Jaskier’s neck and the thatch of dark hair just peeking out from his undershirt. The sight calmed him as he felt the bandage tighten around his wrist.

Jaskier hopped off of him, going to the bed post and tightening the other end, then he was tied down: his arms and legs secured to the bed, his body stretched out obscenely to anyone who might walk in, and vulnerable to anyone who might attack.

Geralt had not experienced real fear in many years, he scarce remembered the feeling, but something close to it clutched at his chest.

Jaskier must have noticed because hands were suddenly clutching at his bicep and soft lips were tracing his temple.

“Hey, you’re okay.” He whispered in his ear, his hot breath on Geralt’s skin a balm to the distressed witcher. “I don’t take your trust lightly, Geralt, I will cherish it. I’ll look after you.”

“You always have.” Geralt rumbled, breathing deeply and reminding himself exactly why he was doing this. So he wouldn’t lose Jaskier. Jaskier, who was right here, looking at him, looking after him. He was okay. He was okay.

Jaskier left him briefly, going to the cabinet before he was back in a flash, standing at the foot of the bed between Geralt’s outstretched legs with something small and brown clutched in his hand.

“This is going to feel good.” He promised, running a hand up Geralt’s calf. “But only if you want to.”

“Get on with it.” He hissed, expecting the familiar smell of the oil they usually used, feeling it on his cock, between his cheeks…Gods, his heartbeat was so fast it might have passed for human.

Jaskier uncorked the vial and Geralt was overcome with the scent of lavender that filled the air. It was a potent smell to humans, but to the witcher, it went right up his nose and he ‘hmm’d pleasantly in instinctive response.

Instead of pouring the oil directly onto his body, Jaskier poured it in his palm, slicking and warming his hands until they were glistening under the candlelight. Then he leant forward and grasped Geralt’s thigh.

Geralt let out a surprised, but not entirely displeased, gasp as Jaskier began massaging firmly into his skin and allowing the relaxing oils to penetrate his muscles. Jaskier’s hands were strong, nimble – lute-playing hands – working over his tired, strained leg until it felt like a puddle on the bed. Jaskier smiled to himself as he moved to Geralt’s other leg, dripping more oil on his hands, and swept his slick, warm hands over the trunk of his thigh. He cupped his knee and kissed his shin as his firm, dexterous fingers took away all the tension within him.

Jaskier massaged his entire body with directed, practised strokes until the witcher was glistening. He paid particular attention to his scars. They didn’t hurt, but they were softer and more tender than the rest of his body. Jaskier’s fingers softened as he stroked them, running his fingertips over the delicate abrasions like an artist adding the final touches to his masterpiece.

He was firmer with the rest of him, working out the knots and tension in his muscles until Geralt was a boneless heap atop the bed. The calming aroma of the lavender infiltrated his body and his nostrils until he was sure he was going to fall asleep. His eyes had slid shut a long time ago. If he were still tied, it didn’t feel like it.

Then, when Geralt was no longer in the room, an oil-slicked hand, soaking the bandage that wrapped around it, slowly, ever so slowly, ran over his cock.

Geralt’s eyes burst open as he slammed back to reality. Somehow the sensitivity on his cock had been ramped up and the gentlest of caresses sent shockwaves through his groin.

Jaskier smirked down at him, watching as Geralt watched him, craning his neck up to see the bard’s slick hand hover over his dick, now thick and heavy with blood - or had it always been that way? – as it lay against his hip.

“Jaskier!” The word came out weaker than Geralt had expected.

“Hmm, yes, dearest?” Jaskier asked, enclosing his hand around Geralt’s prick again.

Geralt groaned, head hitting the bed as Jaskier began to pump his slick cock with long slow strokes. The movement was uncomfortable on Jaskier’s bruised hand, but he couldn’t care less. In fact, there was something poetic about pleasuring his witcher with the same hand he’d used to defend him. Jaskier released him for a moment to slip the bandage off of his hand before he wrapped it back around Geralt’s dick. He wanted to see the soft blue bruising and healing scrapes that littered his knuckles as a sign of his devotion, his protection, his _ownership_ of his witcher.

His other hand went lower, fondling Geralt’s balls. Geralt’s thighs tensed, trying to close, trying to move at all, as Jaskier imperceptibly twisted his wrist every time he reached Geralt’s cock head, his palm just catching the crown on his upward thrust, before sinking back down to the base again, then back up.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything else and focus entirely on the feeling coursing through him. Never had he felt a pleasure so full, so whole, like his cock were somehow connected to every nerve in his body and setting them alight with each flick of Jaskier’s hand.

Jaskier’s pace was maddening slow, but his rhythm never faltered. Every inch of Geralt’s cock got Jaskier’s fullest attentions; every squeeze, every twist, reduced him to a straining, jerking mess. It was too much; it was not enough. Fuck, the bard had _very_ talented hands.

Geralt reflexively tried to pull his hands down, to grip Jaskier’s wrist or tangle in his hair, push him to _more, now_ – but he couldn’t. His wrists strained uselessly against the bandages and he made a noise, part-growl, part-groan, as his head hit the pillow. The hand on his cock was _still going_ , still taking him to the edge with every, single stroke…he pulsed, breath stopping as his orgasm came on suddenly, violently, threatening to rip out of him.

Then Jaskier was gone, his hands left Geralt’s body entirely.

Geralt’s hips pumped up desperately, seeking friction that wasn’t there. His cock spasmed helplessly, an angry shade of red, as his orgasm ebbed and faded, leaving the witcher breathing heavily, exhausted even, and pulling on the bandages on his wrists just as something to pull on, someway to exert his frustration and his pent-up need.

“Jaskier.” The name was measured albeit breathless. “I was about to come.”

Jaskier was by his head, lavender hands bringing his face to his and kissing him softly. Geralt barely registered it. “Shh.” He whispered against his lips. “All in good time.”

Geralt nearly choked. “You mean – you did that on _purpose_?”

“Mmhmm.” Jaskier nodded, kissing him again. Geralt responded. He didn’t want to, annoyed, but fuck, the bard’s lips tasted so sweet.

“I told you I can give you all you give me.” Jaskier said as he moved away back down the bed. Geralt craned his neck to watch him walk. His neck was starting to get stiff now but he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Jaskier hadn’t taken his clothes off, but the bulge in the front of his breeches remained.

Jaskier’s hands roamed everywhere – his arms, his stomach, his thighs, everywhere but his damned cock.

“Will you touch me again?” Geralt demanded.

“Let me worry about it.” Jaskier sing-songed. “Be good, or maybe I won’t touch you at all.”

Geralt’s mouth clamped shut but his eyes bore holes into Jaskier. Oh, when he was untied…

He lost his train of thought as Jaskier wrapped a hand around his cock again, suddenly picking up the pace and jerking him with rough, fast tugs.

“Uh!” Geralt groaned, eyes unfocusing at the sudden onslaught of pleasure coursing through his body. His legs twisted, he tried to pump up into Jaskier’s hand but before he could get used to the sudden, amazing heavy-handedness, Jaskier changed again.

He gripped Geralt’s cock around the base, pointing it upwards, and ran his other hand down Geralt’s length, pulling his foreskin back and revealing the pink, sensitive head beneath. Then his fist enclosed around it. Geralt squirmed as Jaskier twisted his hand, palm rubbing the hidden, sensitive glans before his fingers were dancing over the edge of his crown, rubbing over his slit, squeezing until fresh precome dribbled out. Then Jaskier was gripping the base of his dick more firmly, keeping it steady as his hand sped up, flying over Geralt’s slick head and filling the room with a slick squelch as his deft fingers choked Geralt’s engorged crown.

Geralt cried out. It wasn’t painful, it was _too much_ , it was…he was going to… “I’m going to cum, Jaskier!”

The hand disappeared.

Geralt thrust his hips up uselessly. His foreskin was now fully retracted, his shining slit weeping precome, revealing his most sensitive part and fully vulnerable to Jaskier’s onslaught. The onslaught that he very much _wasn’t giving him_. He strained against the bandages, desperate to touch himself. He’d thought he was strong enough to break out of his damn things. Well, maybe he had been before the bard had tranquilised him with lavender.

“Damnit Jaskier!” He yelled. His entire body was on fire. He was unsure what was oil and what was sweat at this point, all he knew was that he was _soaked_ , and so was the bed beneath him.

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked coolly.

“To come!” Geralt moaned, high-pitched and angry, like it was obvious.

Jaskier just tutted at him, hands on hips. “Have you ever heard the phrase, don’t bite the hand that feeds you?”

Geralt halted, eyes meeting Jaskier’s. His breathing slowed. His cock bobbed, lowering to his stomach, as if submission.

“I want…you to touch me.” He said quietly.

Jaskier smiled then, bringing his oiled hands to his face. “With these?”

Geralt shook his head. He didn’t think he could deal with the tight pressure against his sensitive cock head again. He’d come alright, but he’d lose his damn mind along the way. “No, your mouth. I want you to suck me off.”

Jaskier smiled hugely. “Your wish is my command, witcher.” He said cheekily, crawling onto the bed and between Geralt’s legs. He grasped Geralt’s cock around the base, mouth teasing the glistening, vulnerable crown. Geralt strained his neck up to look at him, biting back his commands, his taunts, for fear that Jaskier would move away again.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Jaskier rewarded him by sucking his cock head into his mouth.

Geralt groaned, thrusting his hips up into the tight heat of Jaskier’s pretty mouth. Jaskier moved away, letting Geralt’s cock fall back against his stomach. “Oh, _fuck_.” The witcher choked out, clenching his fists. He wanted to scream, yell, swear, but he stayed silent.

After a moment, Jaskier took pity on him and licked a long stripe up his cock. It felt like he was setting fires with his tongue. Geralt thrust up, chasing the heat, before Jaskier left him again. He moved his head back and settled between Geralt’s legs as if he were about to take a nap.

This pattern continued on for a long time. Jaskier sucked Geralt’s cock, and every time the witcher tried to thrust his hips up, he moved away. Geralt was quick to realise that if he stayed still, Jaskier stayed, too. It hurt to pin himself to the bed and it took all of his willpower to relax his hips but the reward was worth it. Soon enough, Jaskier’s mouth was wrapped around his dick, his cock head resting snug against the back of the bard’s throat as he slurped around his length, tongue pressing flat against his sensitive flesh and dragging upwards with each bob of his head.

After a while, Jaskier released Geralt from his mouth – the witcher almost complained – until a hand was grasping firmly around his meaty girth, squeezing unforgivingly, and the tip of Jaskier’s tongue was probing the weeping slit of his cock head and lapping up the precome like it was nectar.

“Ah fuck, shit, shit, fuuuck…” A string of curses fell from the witcher’s mouth. Was there nothing this bard couldn’t do? Why the fuck had Geralt wasted all this time fucking his mouth when he could have had his cock _worshipped_ like this?

“Jaskier, that feels amazing, you’re amazing.” The words fell breathlessly from Geralt’s lips and Jaskier smiled around his cock.

“Do you want to come down my throat?” He asked.

“ _Yes_.” Geralt groaned at the ceiling.

“Say please.” The bard said cheekily. Geralt craned his neck up and glared at him.

He was expecting it before it happened. Jaskier was moving away and leaving his cock jerking uncontrollably against his thigh. Geralt’s entire body was keyed up, thrumming with unspent energy. He’d neve known anything like this in all his life. Which was saying something.

“Urgh. I need to come, Jaskier, let me come, fuck!”

Jaskier didn’t say anything. He just raised an eyebrow.

Geralt had to remember why they were even doing this in the first place. This was about loosening control, not taking it.

He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. “Will you touch me? I’m yours.”

Jaskier’s hands were back around his cock almost instantly. Relief flooded Geralt. But Jaskier didn’t move, he just kept his hands lax around Geralt’s girth, a pondering look on his face.

“What?” Geralt asked.

A hand was on his ass, stroking distractedly, then – “I want to finger you.” Jaskier said platonically. “Is that okay?”

Geralt groaned. “Yes, fuck, do it.”

But Jaskier was on the bed, pressing a steadying hand against Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s eyes met Jaskier’s, suddenly weary.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said more firmly, “is that okay? Is that what you want?”

Geralt stared at him wordlessly. Did he want that? He felt Jaskier’s long, slender fingers pressing into his chest. He imagined them pressing into his ass. He’d never had anyone inside him before, but he’d fucked men and they seemed to like it. They seemed to like it a lot. Jaskier certainly did. And he would never suggest anything that would harm him, would he? Geralt trusted him, didn’t he?

He did.

“Yes, Jaskier, I want that.”

Jaskier tried to keep a straight, serious face, but his excitement was evident. He kissed Geralt, long and hard, before he settled between his legs again and ran his hand over the crease of his backside.

Geralt tensed, thighs straining against his bonds.

“It’s okay.” Jaskier said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Geralt didn’t say anything.

Jaskier grabbed the lavender oil. Poured some onto his hand, and then his finger was probing between Geralt’s cheeks. Geralt’s hole fluttered beneath his fingertips.

“Have you ever had anything inside you before?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Jaskier promised.

He massaged the rim of Geralt’s hole with one finger, watching the way it contracted beneath his touch, before he sunk inside. He was immediately met with resistance, and a punched-out moan from above him. He gripped Geralt’s thigh, steadying him.

“It’s okay, relax, I’ve got you.” He slowly pumped the few centimetres or so of his finger in and out of Geralt’s body, rubbing gently at the sensitive rim. When he heard the witcher’s breathing relax, he sunk further in until Geralt’s hole was sucking around his knuckle. Fuck, Geralt was tight. Just the thought of having his cock in there was enough to…no, Jaskier stopped himself. This wasn’t about him. This was about Geralt.

He stilled his hand, stroking Geralt’s hip and giving his cock a few lazy tugs.

“How’re you doing?” He asked.

“I’m good.” The words came out ragged.

Jaskier pumped into him a few more times, urging Geralt to keep breathing, stroking his cock slowly, and soon enough, Geralt’s hole was going lax around his finger.

“I’m going to put another one in now, okay?” He asked.

“Okay.” The word was quiet.

Jaskier pulled his finger out, watching as Geralt’s ass hole instinctively contracted around thin air, before he coated his hand in more oil, staggered two of his fingers on top of each other and sunk back inside, stretching Geralt open and entering him where no one had ever been before.

The groan Geralt let out was loud, and not entirely uncomfortable. Jaskier smiled to himself, slowly pulling out and thrusting back in and suddenly Geralt’s moans were high-pitched, well, for him anyway. His throat seemed to contract around the surprised noises of strained pleasure trying to make their way out of him.

Using his other hand, Jaskier held Geralt’s hip down and flexed his fingers, hard.

“ _Oh, fuck!_ ”

He grinned, did it again –

“Shit, fuck, _Jaskier!_ ” Geralt’s arms were straining against his bonds, his thighs convulsing and trying abortively to close. His hips jerked off of the bed as Jaskier continued to massage his prostate, drawing the filthiest moans from Geralt’s mouth with his fingers as if he were playing his lute.

When he’d calmed enough, Jaskier’s hand left his hip and wrapped around his cock. Geralt’s whole body jolted beneath him.

“Oh, Gods.” Geralt’s voice was broken, wrecked, his chest rising and falling quickly as Jaskier’s hands on him and in him sped up.

Jaskier had done this so many times it was sort of second nature to him and allowed him to look up and watch Geralt writhe and come undone on his fingers alone. A small sense of pride welled up inside him at that. _Devil’s whore,_ he scoffed in his head. If this was his punishment for having sinned, then he’d gladly prostrate himself before it.

“I’m…” Geralt choked out rather quickly. “I’m going to come.”

Jaskier hummed, watching Geralt’s cock head disappear into his slick fist over and over. “You can come.” He said, waiting for the thick white spurts to shoot out.

“No.”

Jaskier looked up. He didn’t stop stimulating Geralt, but he did slow. He didn’t want to make the witcher come if he wasn’t ready.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

Geralt was staring down at him. His cheeks were red, his hair was plastered to his face and his golden eyes were hazy with pleasure. Everything sure looked okay.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Jaskier said nothing, his expression unreadable as he gently released Geralt’s aching cock and pulled his fingers from his ass. He sat back on his knees, elevating himself slightly so Geralt could look at him without straining his neck.

“Are you sure?” Was all he asked.

Geralt’s whole body was shaking, _quivering_ , stretched out and as taut as a bowstring. His hips were jutting uncontrollably, his cock bobbing helplessly, his ass hole was slick and _gaping_. Just asking to be stuffed.

“Fuck me, Jaskier, _please_.” Geralt begged.

Jaskier felt something wash over him. Something he couldn’t pinpoint. Geralt was giving him everything he wanted. And the reason he knew that the two of them would be side by side for as long as destiny allowed - fuck, even when destiny denied them - was that he didn’t take it.

“Geralt, I don’t want to fuck you.”

Geralt’s eyes wavered.

Jaskier groaned. “I mean, I _do_. Fuck, of course I do. But I want _you_ more. Being fucked is a wonderful, beautiful thing and I want you to be sure, I want you to be ready, and I want the person to take you to be someone you trust to care for you and protect you. And I want them to know how fucking lucky they are.” He finished quietly.

“Jaskier, look at me.”

Jaskier did. He’d never seen Geralt’s eyes so _slack_ before.

“It’s you.” Geralt said. “It’s only you.”

“Really?” It was barely audible.

That familiar smirk crossed the witcher’s face. “Unfortunately, so.” He joked.

Jaskier didn’t break eye contact with Geralt as he stood and shucked out of his breeches. He knelt back down on the bed, it dipped beneath his weight. He ran his hands over his cock, slicking himself with oil, before he took himself into his hand, pressing the crown of his cock against Geralt’s lax rim, but not going any further.

There was no going back from this, once it was done, it couldn’t be undone. Geralt would be his. Jaskier would be unable to let him go. They would be bound, irrevocably, as if they weren’t already. Was Geralt emotionally ready to make that decision? Should Jaskier have…

“Jaskier, _please_.”

The word was Jaskier’s undoing. He sunk inside, his cock breeching Geralt’s virgin hole. Geralt _wailed_ , low and gruff, still Geralt but oh so new, oh so desperate.

Jaskier’s eyes closed instinctively at the tight heat enveloping him, consuming him, destroying him. Fuck, he was wrong, he was so wrong. He didn’t miss fucking at all, because nothing he’d ever experienced before was like _this_.

“Jask…” Geralt’s brow furrowed and his eyes closed. Jaskier liked this new position. He had to slot his legs under Geralt’s thighs to give him enough leverage to sink in and now he could see Geralt’s face properly and see that often dour mask undone with the pleasure Jaskier was giving him. He shifted forward, sinking deeper, and Geralt’s mouth fell open and Jaskier had never been more in love, more turned on, more happy than he was in this moment.

He ran his hands over Geralt’s biceps, squeezing them gently as he got his attention.

“You okay?” He murmured.

Geralt nodded, his eyes still closed. “Yes, fuck, feels so good, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pulled out slightly before thrusting back in, nice and slow, allowing Geralt’s body to acclimatise to the foreign intrusion. He was so godsdamned tight that Jaskier didn’t think he could go any faster if he tried. Every inward thrust was like a vice around his cock.

Geralt groaned gutturally as Jaskier fucked him slowly. The stretch in his ass, combined with the pressure against his prostate, was one of the deepest, most intense feelings he’d ever had. But it was more than that. Jaskier had him, Jaskier was making sure he was okay. He was protecting him. Geralt felt so…unafraid, so safe, maybe for the first time.

“Faster, please.” He moaned, arms straining uselessly against the bandages as he tried to drive his ass down.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asked breathlessly, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

“Yes, fuck, more. Please, Jaskier, I need you.”

Jaskier jerked forward automatically, his entire length sliding into Geralt’s body. Geralt groaned, his body jolting upwards as Jaskier rolled his hips, thrusting _up_ , hitting that sensitive wall within him every time he sunk in.

Geralt grunted, legs shaking, ass contracting sharply around Jaskier’s cock as his hips bucked wildly. Jaskier looked between them at Geralt’s red, distended hole swallowing his dick. He changed his mind. If anyone ever so much as looked at Geralt with intent to fuck him, Jaskier would gladly tear their arms off.

“You’re mine.” He growled, thrusting harder.

Geralt cried out unexpectedly above him.

Jaskier did it again, fucking up into him sharp, fast thrusts as Geralt’s back arched and his face contorted into a blissed-out scream.

Jaskier grabbed his cock and barely tugged him twice before Geralt was arching off of the bed entirely, his ass clamping down punishingly around Jaskier as he shot thick white ropes so high they splattered the hollow of his neck.

Jaskier barely noticed however, as his eyes rolled back into his head at the tight pressure clamping down on his dick. He was so fucking close. He was _there_.

“Geralt, I’m going to, I can’t…”

“Stay, please, come in me!”

Jaskier was relieved to have Geralt’s consent, because honestly, he didn’t have much of a choice. Geralt was still coming. The spunk was dribbling from his cock with less ferocity, but his walls were constricting around Jaskier still, and Jaskier was coming, he was coming so hard. He jerked his hips forward desperately, hands clamping on Geralt’s hips as his entire body strained, then he collapsed on top of the witcher.

The room went quiet except for their heavy breathing.

After a while, Jaskier’s cock began to soften, and Geralt’s ass tightening reflexively around him was starting to get painful on his post-orgasmic organ.

He shifted back onto his knees, making Geralt gasp quietly, before he was slowly pulling himself out of Geralt’s hole.

Geralt’s asshole fluttered, suddenly empty, and Jaskier watched, mesmerised, as his own seed dribbled from the red, glistening rim and onto the bed. Geralt’s thighs shook at the sensation, but his eyes were still closed and his chest still rising and falling. For once, he didn’t look post-battle. He looked calm.

Jaskier climbed over him as gently as he could, coming to his left wrist. He took it in his hand and undid the knot, releasing the arm from the bandage. Geralt let out a soft moan as his muscles responded to being unrestricted. He had a red mark on his wrist from where he’d been pulling, and Jaskier kissed it before rubbing it softly under his hands. When he looked up, he saw that Geralt was looking at him. He looked tired, but he was smiling, and his eyes were on fire.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” The witcher replied.

Jaskier leant over him to untie his other wrist and was surprised when Geralt’s now free hand snaked around his neck, bringing him down into a kiss. Jaskier hummed against Geralt’s mouth, dexterously undoing the other knot blind and bring his hand back to cup the witcher’s cheek, holding him as he kissed him.

They broke apart, Jaskier ran his nose over Geralt’s, before he moved down his body to his ankle.

He felt a strong hand on the scruff of his shirt, yanking him back with a force that made him squeak. He met Geralt’s eyes, already he felt ten times smaller in the witcher’s big arms. He expected, rightfully he supposed, repercussions.

“You-“ Geralt growled against his skin “-do not ever leave me.”

Jaskier smiled. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> A/N thank you so much for everyone who is reading and commending and leaving kudos/bookmarks. I can hardly believe it. I'm always so critical of my own work and to know you're enjoying it is incredible and humbling to me. In the words of our Lord and savior Keanu Reeves, you're breathtaking! ❤️😊


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